


Spending all, spending all my time (loving you)

by Hyeyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu
Summary: The fastest speed ever recorded for a volleyball serve is 82 mph by the Bulgarian professional Matey Kaziyski. Bokuto’s own serve is around 75 mph on a good day.The stranger in the empty concrete lot behind Bokuto’s apartment building receives 72.4 mph of volleyball with the side of his head.In which Bokuto Koutarou plays volleyball at university, and Akaashi Keiji is a dimension traveller.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's 3 a.m. and I'm so wiped, I can't even. But the Bokuto-voice was strong and I am weak. I'll beta this in the morning.
> 
> Title from Perfume's 'Spending All My Time' (which has been on loop for the past...few...hours.)

The fastest speed ever recorded for a volleyball serve is 82 mph by the Bulgarian professional Matey Kaziyski. Bokuto’s own serve is around 75 mph on a good day.

The stranger in the empty concrete lot behind Bokuto’s apartment building receives 72.4 mph of volleyball with the side of his head.

In all fairness, he (the stranger, not Bokuto) had popped up right in front of Bokuto with no warning whatsoever. Caught up in his extra serving practice (all practice must be serious practice, or else they don’t count), Bokuto hadn’t even notice the man until the volleyball had punched an undignified ‘urk!’ out of him, sending him tumbling ungracefully to the ground.

“Sorry!” Bokuto yells on instinct. He follows it with a “Hey, it’s really dangerous to run in front of a serve, you know! If you wanted to play too, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to...wait a minute, I didn’t see you come in. How did you come in? Who are you, by the way?”

The stranger doesn’t get up immediately, which nudges at Bokuto’s concern enough to send him jogging past his makeshift net to the crumpled form. Up close, the stranger is really good-looking, but Bokuto’s more distracted by the man’s thick coat and scarf. No one wears winter clothing this late into summer, especially not on 25°C evenings.

Crouching, he carefully pats a thickly padded shoulder (which was surprisingly cold to the touch) with one hand, then with the other as well. “Hey, hey, hey, you okay?”

The man mumbles something that sounded suspiciously like a swear word, shifting sluggishly on the ground. Bokuto conscientiously helps him into a sitting position as he tries to recall the questions Masashi-sensei usually asks them when they mess up and get injured in practice.

“Can you sit up? Oh, sorry, my bad - you’re already sitting up. Are you in pain? How many fingers am I holding up?”

The man rudely ignores the three fingers Bokuto waves in front of his face, hands reaching for his right ear and patting it frantically. Bokuto watches him for a while before he groans and slaps his hand to his forehead. “Oh right! My bad - did I hit your ear? Is it in pain?”

“I think,” the man says faintly, fingers still scrabbling at his ear, “you broke my time piece.”

“Sorry,” Bokuto says again automatically. Then, “Your what?”

\---

Akaashi Keiji is a time traveller.

“I’m not a time traveller, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi Keiji is something like a time traveller. Only, he jumps through what he calls ‘dimensions’, which he says are really just alternate realities of the world they are in now.

“Whoa, that is so cool!” Bokuto enthuses, stretched out beside Akaashi on the concrete. “How do you do that? Jump through dimensions?”

Akaashi gets a weird look on his face; it doesn’t really suit him, with how it twists the corners of his mouth. “You’re...you believe me?”

Bokuto shrugs, tilting his head quizzically. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you lying?”

“No, but.” The little wrinkle between Akaashi’s brows is distracting, but Bokuto’s been raised with enough manners to know not to reach out and poke it. “Isn’t it hard to accept? The idea of other timelines existing alongside this one, I mean.”

“I can’t see Jupiter or Saturn,” Bokuto points out reasonably. “but I know they’re out there. Just because I can’t see these other worlds doesn’t mean I think they don’t exist.”

“So you already know about parallel universes?”

“Yup! Well, only what you’ve told me so far, but you’ve been really clear with your information. Honestly, I think you’re a lot easier to understand than our Calculus lecturer - you should consider teaching differential equations, Akaashi. I’d probably understand it a lot faster.”

Akaashi’s whole body slumps, but the wrinkle disappears with the tension that leaves it.Then it jumps right back into place as the other man winces, breath hissing out as he gingerly touched the bruise forming blue-black on his right cheek. Bokuto watches him, briefly entranced by the length of his fingers before realization jolts him ramrod-straight.

“Shit, I forgot! You need to ice that, like, ten minutes ago!” Seizing Akaashi’s hand, Bokuto tugs on it until the other man was standing, only swooping down to scoop the large coat and scarf in his other arm. “C’mon, my apartment is just upstairs, and we’ve got plenty of ice-packs in the freezer.”

“Bokuto-san-”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take too long - the lift's really fast, and if we reach my place in time, we can prevent that bruise from swelling any larger.” Bokuto flashes Akaashi a grin. “Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” But Akaashi allows himself to be pulled towards the lobby of the apartment complex. Bokuto only realizes he’s forgotten his volleyball and net when they’re somewhere between floor five and six, but that’s okay; he’ll just come down for them later.

\---

Bokuto is smart - beneath the boisterous and rambunctious attitude are finely honed instincts. They are what’s getting him through university, reminding him of deadlines, lecture times, lunch and practice hours. They’re what tells him when he can push a little harder and when he needs to not fall asleep in class.They’re what makes him such a fearsome volleyball player, monitoring the court and guiding the power behind his spikes to the most vulnerable spots in their opponents’ defense.

Kuroo knows Bokuto’s intelligence all too well - that’s why he and Bokuto have been friends as long as they have.

Still, he raises an eyebrow at Bokuto hauling a reeling Akaashi into their shared living space. “Oya? Who’s that?”

“This is Akaashi,” Bokuto announces as he plops him right beside his roommate on the couch. “I accidentally drove my serve into the side of his head.”

Kuroo winces reflexively, patting Akaashi’s shoulder in sympathy as he peers at his cheek. “Ouch. That looks like it’s going to be an ugly one.”

“Awww man!” Bokuto slams the freezer close a little too hard, hunching his shoulders. “I’m really sorry, Akaashi - I know I’ve said that a lot today, but I really am! I should have brought you up here first thing; why can’t I do things right-”

“Hey hey, no need to beat yourself up over it, Bo.” Kuroo’s phone rings, a tinny rendition of Perfume’s ‘Spring of Life’ buzzing on the side table. “That’s probably Sawamura. I probably won’t be back tonight, so remember to lock the door later.”

Kuroo stays long enough to physically drag Bokuto out of the kitchen and over to Akaashi before he leaves the apartment. Bokuto is too ashamed to meet Akaashi’s eyes, only looking at him quickly (just once!) to ensure he’s pressing the ice pack against the right spot before he averts his gaze towards the ceiling.

“Kuroo’s right,” Akaashi murmurs. “You don’t have to feel guilty, Bokuto-san.”

“But it’s my fault, Akaashi!” Bokuto gently moves the ice pack before it gets too cold against Akaashi’s skin. “If I hadn’t gotten wrapped up in your story, we would have been up here a lot sooner, and that bruise wouldn’t have grown so big, and you could have had it iced earlier. If I hadn’t been practicing, then you wouldn’t have been hit by my serve at all!”

“Um, Bokuto-san, you’re pressing the ice pack to my eye.”

“I am?” Bokuto drops the pack in horror. “See? I can’t do anything right!”

Hands catch Bokuto before he could retreat to the other end of the couch in self-loathing. “First of all, it wasn’t your fault that I popped into this world right in front of you. Also, you weren’t obliged to help a stranger, much less one which must have sounded absolutely insane. If anything, I should be thanking you for your ice pack.”

“O-oh. When you put it that way…”

“Yes.” Akaashi picks up the ice pack and presses it back to his cheek. “So, thank you, Bokuto-san. I really appreciate the help you’ve extended to me so far.”

Duly assured of his helpfulness, Bokuto stops fidgeting, moving to hover over Akaashi attentively once again should he need something. Something tickles at his memory. “Oh yeah, how do you know Kuroo?”

Akaashi blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

Bokuto frowns at the dimension traveller’s obvious confusion, tapping at his chin. “You called him by his name right off earlier, yeah? But you had to ask me for mine, which means you must have met Kuroo somehow, only you said you’ve only just entered this reality. Did you come from a future world? Is this a time-loop like that beaver day movie?”

Akaashi hums. “Oh, right. I suppose that would have seemed strange, yes. No, this is not a time-loop, and I don’t come from the future. I don’t know this Kuroo, but I’ve met versions of him in the multi-verse before.”

“The multi-verse? You mean the other worlds?” At Akaashi’s nod, Bokuto gasps. “Wait, so there are other versions of us in these other worlds?”

“Well, yes, since they’re parallel ‘what-ifs’ of this reality. I’ve worked with a few other Kuroo’s before; he’s generally a safe person to trust when trouble arises, even if convincing him of my status and the parallel universes usually take quite a while.”

Bokuto pulls his knees up onto the couch, tucking them under his chin as he stares at Akaashi, intrigued. “Yeah, it’s hard to trick Kuroo - he’s really sharp. Hey, Akaashi, what about me? Do you work with me too? How am I like in other dimensions? Am I super-strong? Do I still play volleyball?”

Akaashi’s reply is hesitant in a way he hasn’t been since Bokuto’s met him downstairs. “I’ve never worked with you, Bokuto-san. Not because I don’t want to,” he hastens to add at Bokuto’s crestfallen face, “But...I’ve only ever seen you out of the corner of my eye. You’re usually out of reach. Whenever I turn around, you’re no longer there.”

\---

Akaashi can’t move to the next reality without his time piece. It’s what Bokuto’s 72.4-mph serve had smashed, alongside Akaashi’s cheek. A part of the ear piece had shattered, the dimension traveller says, holding it out for Bokuto to see.

Bokuto looks down at Akaashi’s empty hand, then back up into Akaashi’s face, contrite. “I’m-”

“You don’t need to apologize again, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, ever patient. “It’s not your fault. But if you have any screwdrivers, maybe some screws, a plier…?”

Bokuto blows the week’s grocery budget on the most complete do-it-yourself toolkit Tokyu Hands offered, much to Kuroo’s exasperated amusement and Akaashi’s chagrin.

\---

Until Akaashi could dimension-hop again, Bokuto insists that he stay with them.

“It doesn’t look like it, but our sofa’s secretly a pull-out bed, so it’s like a bed-version of a Transformers robot. And it’s really comfortable; Kenma - that’s Kuroo’s friend - can vouch for its softness.”

“Bokuto-san, you can’t simply volunteer your place without -”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Bokuto waves Akaashi’s protests away breezily. “Right, Kuroo?”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Kuroo offers from where he was lounging against the frame of his bedroom door, watching them in lazy interest. Akaashi pinches the top of his nose in a gesture that Bokuto’s starting to recognize as his default reaction to most of Bokuto’s suggestions.

“...if you’re sure.”

“I’m definitely sure. The most sure! The sure-est!”

“Then I leave myself in your care. Please look after me,” Akaashi adds belatedly. Bokuto’s too carried away with whooping to notice how dark eyes follow him, speculative.

\---

“Why do you jump worlds for, Akaashi?” Bokuto’s leaning over the couch that’s now Akaashi’s makeshift bed. It’s currently in couch form; the dimension traveller painstakingly folds it back into a sofa every morning before he starts work on his ear piece.

“Don’t you have those physics tutorial sheets to finish?” Akaashi’s been helping him with some of his university work, and seriously, if he really wanted to, Akaashi could definitely be a lecturer. Honestly, it’s been easier to grasp some of the more tricky concepts when he explains it in that calming, modulated voice of his.

If Bokuto occasionally gets caught staring too long at the curve of Akaashi’s eyelashes, or the slope of his nose, he can’t help it. Akaashi is really pretty - he’s acknowledged as much since he met the other man.

But Akaashi is also polite and nice and caring, and Bokuto likes that. Bokuto likes Akaashi, period.

Akaashi’s talking - oops, had he been speaking all this while? - and Bokuto pretends he’s been listening all along, putting on his best ‘listening’ expression. “...that the time-lines are stable again, it’s mostly a formality now. But Matoka-san said I could keep the time piece and use it to jump until I found a universe to stop in.”

Akaashi leans his head on his hand, and Bokuto leans forward, drawn moth-like to the wistful quirk of thin lips.   

“I suppose you could say I’m looking for my story, where I belong.”

\---

Bokuto’s fondest memories will always include the day he successfully convinces Akaashi to try playing volleyball with him.

“You have setter hands, Akaashi!”

The slighter man studies the hands in question, eyes narrowed in concentration as he turns them this way and that. “What exactly are ‘setter hands’, Bokuto-san?”

“They are -” long fingers, finely boned and slender like their owner, clever, skillful and strong. “-just - _setter hands_.” Bokuto waves his own arms as if they’d automatically express all the thoughts jumbling up in his head. “Just trust me on this!”

“I trust you.” The admission is soft, but instantaneous and Bokuto beams wide.

“Haha, it’s my turn to be the teacher, ey? Okay, so first, you need to stagger your feet, bend your knees a little...”

Bokuto’s actually a pretty decent volleyball coach. By the end of the day, Akaashi learns to hit a serve over the net, and Bokuto learns the sound of Akaashi’s laugh, surprised and bright in the darkening evening.

\---

Akaashi’s been a doctor, a museum curator, a barista (three times), a librarian, and an ambulance driver.

“The last one was particularly stressful,” he tells Bokuto over the coffee machine, which has done nothing but purr since Akaashi started sharing their apartment. “I remember this one call we got in the middle of the night, a heart failure emergency in Harajuku. It was raining so badly, we skidded right off the road.”

Bokuto gasps, eyes riveted on Akaashi’s face as he grips his mug in anticipation. “Oh no! What happened after that? Did you save the person?”

“Yeah.” Akaashi smiles a lot more freely these days. “I still can’t believe it, but we actually managed to push the ambulance back onto the road and reach her in time.”

“Man, that must have been exciting.” Bokuto sits back with a sigh, satisfied with the ending of the story. “I bet I would be a great ambulance driver.”

“Probably.”

“Hey, hey, hey, is that doubt I hear in your voice?” Bokuto puffs out his chest in indignation. “Because if I really wanted to, I bet I could transform all these volleyball reflexes into ambulance driver reflexes. I won’t, because I love volleyball too much, but I probably could do it.”

“I don’t doubt you could,” Akaashi agrees, pouring a mug of hot coffee for himself. “If you really wanted to, you could do anything.”

“...Really?” Bokuto glances up, only to freeze, startled at how intensely Akaashi is looking at him. “I mean, yeah, of course I could!”

“....Anything except sort the laundry properly, that is.”

“That was just one time!” Bokuto squawks and Akaashi chuckles, the moment melted away like the sugar at the bottom of Akaashi’s coffee cup.

\---

Akaashi fixes his time piece on a balmy Thursday night, when the windows are open to let the city breezes in.

Bokuto bursts through the door (normal routine), drops his sports bag by his sneakers in the hallway (normal routine) and makes a beeline towards the kitchen for some milk (normal routine), only to stop short at the sight of Akaashi standing by the sofa-couch with a small bag slung around him (unusual).

“Akaashi?” He frowns, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi’s voice is rough, none of his usual mellifluousness lining his tone. “I’ve repaired my time piece.”

“Oh. Oh.” Oh, Bokuto thinks, his heart plummeting to his feet. It’s time. He’d forgotten, and isn’t that just like him, forgetting the important things like sorting the laundry, the bills for this month’s utilities, how Akaashi isn’t meant to stay with them.

“Bokuto-san. I.” Akaashi’s eyes are dark - they’re always dark, the color of the coffee he drinks. But worse still, they’re sad, and Bokuto simply cannot, will not tolerate that.

So he sweeps Akaashi into a large, warm hug that he hopes says _it’s okay_ better than his words ever will. Then he steels himself, and steps back.

“It’s okay. It’s _okay,_  ‘kaashi. I know you can’t stay.” Bokuto’s voice cracks slightly, and he swipes at his tears in surprise. When had he started crying? That’s no good - he can’t have his last impression on Akaashi be this uncool. So he smiles instead, all teeth and encouraging cheer. Akaashi can be happy now. Akaashi can go explore more worlds, meet other versions of people, try new things. “Go find your story! Just remember me sometimes, okay? And if you ever meet other-me, say hi! I’m sure he, I, he will love you too!”

Akaashi opens his mouth, eyes still so, so sad -

\---

Akaashi blinks out of Bokuto’s life at 7:56 p.m. on a balmy Thursday night.

Kuroo comes home at 8:15 p.m. and sits by the doorway with Bokuto until 9:00 p.m., holding his friend as he cries, cries, cries.

\---

Life goes on. Months pass. No further people blink into Bokuto’s life or volleyball practices, the official and unofficial ones.

He aces his Physics finals exams.

Summer turns into autumn, and the leaves begin to fall.

Sometimes, Kuroo still looks at him a little too thoughtfully, asks him too-careful questions. Honestly, Kuroo’s the best, Bokuto doesn’t deserve him as a friend sometimes.

“Nah, Bo. You deserve me just fine. Just… you deserve a lot more too, y’know?”

Bokuto chuckles at that. “You think so?”

“I know so.” They fistbump companionably, and Bokuto thinks, maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can move on.

_If you really wanted to, you could do anything._

\---

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t forget Akaashi.

He can’t forget his smile, how it would dawn, slow and secret, across his face.

He can’t forget his hands, how they would work, delicate, on something Bokuto couldn’t see. How they would shakily hit a volleyball.

He can’t forget his hair, how it would tickle Bokuto’s nose when he curled up against him to watch volleyball matches on television.

But there’s nothing wrong with that though. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, right?

\---

The fastest speed ever recorded for a volleyball serve is 82 mph by the Bulgarian professional Matey Kaziyski. Bokuto’s own serve is around 75 mph on a good day.

The volleyball drops from Bokuto’s hands at 0.1 mph as he gawks at the figure that runs, full-tilt around the corner and right into Bokuto’s sticky, sweaty arms.

“I found you, in the next world. I had to chase you but I found you, but it wasn’t _you_.” The words spill out in a rush, tumbling over each other so quickly, it was almost a jumbled waterfall of sound in Akaashi( _Akaashi_ )’s voice. “And I thought, I’ve wasted it, haven’t I? I had to - I jumped so many worlds, did you know Bokuto-san that we can’t control where we jump to? I moved so many times I got a headache, I had to limit my jumps -”

Akaashi draws in a huge breath, still clinging, limpet-like to Bokuto’s front. “But I finally found this reality again.”

Bokuto doesn’t know what to say, heart shivering, swelling in Akaashi’s embrace. So he tugs on Akaashi’s chin until he lifts his face from where it had buried itself in the front of Bokuto’s t-shirt. Then, he swoops down and kisses it.

Bokuto’s accuracy is one of his strong points.

Reciprocation, apparently, is one of Akaashi’s.

It’s a while before they break apart, arms encircled around each others’ backs, a little like one of those infinity loops Bokuto learnt in Calculus. A mobius strip, the lecturer had called it, where you didn’t know where one side ends, and where the other begins.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I think you broke my time piece.”

“Sorry,” Bokuto says immediately, happiness fizzing up his insides. Then, “Wait, _again_???”

Akaashi laughs at that, and it is, hands down, the best sound in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism, kudos and/or pillows are very much appreciated. ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧
> 
> There be [a tumblr](http://hweiro.tumblr.com/) here.


End file.
